


Sleep On It - Lost scenes from Captain America: The Winter Soldier

by aurora_ff



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Black Widow - Fandom, Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Spoilers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 14:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1473367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurora_ff/pseuds/aurora_ff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extra scenes imagined in "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" that detail the transformation of the relationship of Steve Rogers (Captain America) and Natasha Romanov (Black Widow) from platonic S.H.I.E.L.D. colleagues to intimate companions. From Steve's POV. The events of a chaotic few weeks transforms them both for the better.<br/></p><hr/><p>Excerpt:</p><p>“It’s not a play, Steve. It’s just...being human. For a brief time, not having to keep a guise up, not having to be on guard. Bare. Sharing comfort.”  Natasha then scoffed, turning her head away, and tucking her legs into her chest and chin.  “I’m sorry. That sounded lame and desperate.”</p><p>“It sounded a lot like the truth,” he observed.</p><p>She shrugged, still not meeting his eye. “It’s an offer, I guess.”</p><p>Steve exhaled a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding in. In a sudden burst of playfulness and verbal one-upmanship that he rarely had over her, he teased, “Well, can I sleep on it?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep On It - Lost scenes from Captain America: The Winter Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Some overt sexual content, but all keeping "within character". Significant Winter Soldier spoilers. Minor references to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. plotlines.
> 
> My first MARVEL fanfic.

Natasha rinsed while Steve stacked Sam Wilson’s plates and glasses in the dishwasher. It was an extremely mundane task, in many ways welcome from the heroics that they had both endured in the past week.

“Don’t worry, Rogers. Wilson will be back in two hours with the life insurance. Easy.”

By life insurance, Natasha meant the cash, small firearms, fake IDs and the duplicates of her S.H.I.E.L.D. tech that she had, like a squirrel, stashed away in small storage units across the States and internationally for years. No one but her knew where she kept them; “Not even Fury”, she had confessed over scrambled eggs, jellied toast, and buttery grits. 

Compartmentalizing; it was like breathing to a spy. As much as Steve disliked it, Natasha's habits would come in handy for retrieving the FALCON suit from Fort Meade. And Steve and Natasha both needed a well-armed and uncompromised ally as of yesterday.

Steve turned his head to look at the clock on the microwave, and he felt his eyelids grow heavy. The surroundings got fuzzy and swimmy. He leaned against the counter, clutching the lip with both hands, nearly forgetting the task at hand until Natasha bumped the last glass against his wrist. Steve forced his eyes open, but not before she just flipped the glass into the top rack herself, then set her fingers lightly on top of his.

“How long have you been up? Forty-eight hours? Sixty-four?”

He muttered, “Something like that. Fury...the elevator...the bunker and Zola…”

“Well then, Captain…” Her arms and hands slipped around him, easing him away from the kitchen. “I’m ordering you some rack time.”

Natasha guided him into Sam’s bedroom. While his feet didn’t protest, the tactician within him already leaped towards the next goal. “We’ve got to plan the Meade op. Go over the base layout...”

The back of Steve’s knees hit the edge of the mattress and buckled. No matter how strong of a soldier he had become, in that instant he felt incredibly fragile. Natasha sat down beside him, her leg touching his. 

“I’ll keep watch,” she insisted. “I got in a really good nap earlier thanks to that missile. Best. Sleep. Ever. Maybe you should try it.” 

He let out a chuckle. She had irony in spades. 

Steve then used the last of his energy to stare directly at Natasha. The mischievous look that sometimes floated across her eyes was there. In his exhaustion, he found himself wishing that calculated kiss to evade the HYDRA agents had been real. That he and she didn’t simply pretend.

Steve blinked his eyes hard, and Natasha turned to arrange a few pillows for him.

“Lay back,” she whispered, scooping his feet off the floor. He did, all without taking his eyes off her, no matter how much sleep beckoned. His drowsy gaze descended from her mouth to the fine silver link necklace Natasha wore, adorned with a single understated arrow.

“Agent Barton.” He observed, not knowing why or how that mattered.

“...isn’t a jealous kind,” she completed. “And neither am I.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. He was embarrassed mostly, for broadcasting his desire without a single word. A flash of vague anger did more to awaken him than the coffee at breakfast. He felt himself tense up, clench his jaw. But who was he angry at?

Natasha’s voice was both gentle and matter-of-fact. “The adrenaline gets to you after a while. The utter reality that in a matter of minutes, you might be dead from a bullet or a blast. When you share enough missions with someone, it’s intimate in ways.” She paused. "Agents have...for a very long time... negotiated these things."

In this bedroom, just hours before, Steve had given her his trust. That trust was all or nothing; with him, it couldn’t be any other way. “I’m listening,” was all he could bring himself to say, watching the assassin poised on the edge of the bed.

“It’s not a play, Steve. It’s just...being human. For a brief time, not having to keep a guise up, not having to be on guard, not having to be a soldier. Bare. Sharing comfort.” Natasha then scoffed, turning her head away, and tucking her legs into her chest and chin. “I’m sorry. That sounded lame and desperate.”

“It sounded a lot like the truth,” he observed.

She shrugged, still not meeting his eye. “It’s an offer, I guess.”

Steve exhaled a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding in. In a sudden burst of playfulness and verbal one-upmanship that he rarely had over her, he teased, “Well, can I sleep on it?”

Natasha’s gaze immediately whipped back to him, and she smiled in a way that lit up her eyes. “Yeah. You can.” Her limbs uncoiled themselves and her feet landed on the apartment floor once again.

She lowered the shades and drew the curtains. Steve settled himself upon Sam’s extra-extra-firm mattress. It was heaven.

The exhaustion curled in around him. Steve may or may not have imagined Natasha kiss him on his forehead, whispering, “Just don’t take seventy years to come around.”

* * *

Steve’s footsteps echoed on the hard walls of the cement catacombs of Fury’s hideout somewhere in Virginia. Bucky was alive, yet twisted by HYDRA into an enemy. In his mind, he saw Barnes fall into that icy canyon; the scene replayed itself constantly in his nightmares. The guilt was always threatening to paralyze him, even though he knew it had been a horrible, chaotic accident. How much more would it crush him if it came to killing Bucky in order to complete his mission?

There was no gym in this place. Steve couldn’t even take a long run down the road for fear of being spotted. At least maybe a few minutes of fresh air next to the reservoir would calm him. Or finding Sam to do a little hand-to-hand sparring in a storage area.

“‘War is long periods of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror,’” he quoted to himself as he strode past the windows of the surgical suite.

Steve locked eyes with Natasha through the glass. She was sitting in a hospital bed, alone, her shoulder clearly bandaged, and an IV dripping some strangely colored liquid into her arm. A worn paperback dangled from her hands as she winked at him.

Before he could talk some sense into himself, he reversed course, and found the series of doors that led to her.

“How you feeling?” he asked, pulling up a stool and sitting on it casually.

“No so bad,” she answered, sliding in a bubble gum wrapper to mark her place, then setting the book aside. “Since New York, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s been working on some sort of fast-healing cocktail. Get agents back in the field quicker. Fury must have stocked some away for a rainy day. I’ll be good soon; him, he'll be able to walk tomorrow.”

Steve grimaced briefly, fearing to be alone with his thoughts for that long.

“The plan’s solid, Rogers. Solid as it’s ever going to be. You want us to go over it again at zero-hundred?”

He shook his head, and then rubbed the back of his neck, looking away, his eyes landing on her reflection in the window. “About your offer…”

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “It’s still open.”

He furrowed his brow. “What are the rules...for that?” Steve swallowed, calling up the humor that would mask his nervousness; he forced himself to look at Natasha directly. “I mean...it’s not like Ops issued a manual.”

That small smirk passed over her lips, but her voice was no-nonsense. “No hard rules. Just...if you find it distracting or interfering with your missions, you cool it down or stop. Do what you need to do; don’t overcomplicate it. Be discreet. When you’re not alone together, keep it professional.”

“Natasha, I’m not sure--”

He didn’t have a chance to finish. The two way door swung open, and a doctor-like person entered the room. Steve scanned around for what he could use as improvised weapons. Natasha turned her gaze away from him, briefly assessing the newcomer as a potential hostile. When she relaxed, he did too.

“Let’s take a look, Agent Romanoff.” Natasha didn’t move as the doctor checked her blood pressure, then pulled the hospital gown away from her shoulder, peeling away the bandage. She just stared at Steve neutrally and he stared back, his heart pounding. Fresh pink flesh had replaced the wound, but it would likely still leave a scar. “I think you’re set.” The white-coat took out her IV and noted a few things on a chart before disappearing through the swinging door.

Natasha sprang off the bed and reached for the fresh set of clothes folded on a counter, taking them with her behind a chrome and cloth changing screen. It was probably for his benefit. 

“If you overthink it, you’ll talk yourself out of it,” she said with a bit of resignation, as if she already believed he had. Her arms appeared briefly as she pulled on a black t-shirt.

Steve cast his eyes up at the clock over the bed, watched the second hand tick as Natasha continued to dress. What was it that he was waiting for? Time had taken the only woman he had wanted, that it felt right to want. If their plan worked, S.H.I.E.L.D. would be utterly dismantled in less than twenty four hours. And here was a friend standing with him in the chaos, whom he yearned to kiss again and more, and who sought the same from him. He might die while waiting for the perfect partner, the perfect time. And, God, the Bucky he knew would have taken her offer up in a heartbeat, with a spring in his step and a broad, lupine grin.

Peggy had moved on, and he did not fault her. She was human. He wanted to be, too. He just didn’t know if he could be brave enough.

Natasha’s disembodied hands zipped up her boots. “How about we see if we can’t scrounge up something better than MREs?” she proposed casually, slipping back out from the screen, whole again.

She paused, staring at him. “You alright, Steve?” She neared him to touch his arm. “It’s like you’ve seen a ghost. It is Barnes?”

Steve heard the stool clatter to the floor as he stood and reached to her, like a drowning person reaching for anything on the surface. He felt the softness of her hair through his fingers as his trembling palm brushed her cheek. “It’s me,” he whispered tightly.

Natasha shook her head slightly, wrapping one arm around his back, drawing herself in. “No,” she whispered, using her free hand cup his chin and guide his gaze to lock on her own. “You told me once you weren’t dead. I’ll help you prove it.”

Steve closed his eyes and lowered his lips to hers. His uncertain quivering melted to a rising feeling of desire as the kiss evolved, grew deeper. It could never be love with Natasha, he knew that. But this wasn’t a mistake; it wasn’t perfect, but this was exactly what he needed.

* * *

Natasha must have heard his terror-gripped shouting from the next room over, for even before he was entirely conscious of his surroundings, she was holding him. Not the embrace of the ice; not the grip of a cold metal hand squeezing his neck. Warm.

“Shhh. Shhhhhh.” She soothed, “We’re safe.” 

Steve sat up, rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” His room was dimly lit by a bank of lights overhead.

Natasha shrugged, her hold loosening. “We all get them. We can’t do what we do and simply forget all that we've lost. It was Sam screaming on the couch last night.”

Steve almost blurted out “Did you go to him too?", but he realized that was unfair to her, a product of how the nightmare had set him on edge. Instead, he simply took her hand and drew her down to the bed. She was barefoot, wearing a simple off-white satin nightgown that fell just past her knees.

“Not your usual color,” he remarked, keeping how beautiful she looked to himself.

Natasha chuckled. “Agent Hill lent it to me after I complained how scratchy the sheets are.” She squeezed his hand with her own, returning to the cause of her visit. “A lot of vets turn to booze and painkillers to try to help them cope.”

Steve scowled. “Yeah, well that couldn’t help me. Can’t get drunk anymore; my body just processes it too quickly. Probably the same with the pills too.”

Natasha brushed the back of her fingers along the shape of his ear. It sent a surge of longing through him. “And how about this?” she asked.

He released her hand to take her waist, sliding her against him with more force than he intended. His mouth found the nape of her neck, and she closed her eyes and let out a breath and shiver of delight. His splayed fingers ran over the silk that covered her breast, and her body arched ever so slightly into him. His pulse began to race, arousal stirring him.

“Steve,” she whispered urgently as he brushed his lips against the line of her jaw, seeking her mouth.

“Am I going too fast?” Suddenly he was worried and straightened up, took his hands from her. This was all pretty new to him. He was bound to mess it up, ready to convince himself he would never be good with women, not in the way he imagined. Not the way Buck had always been.

“No,” Natasha said gently. “I want to show you something. I think I know you well enough by now; you’ll want to please your lover pretty thoroughly before you look to yourself. It’s your nature.” She shifted slightly. “Sit behind me, feet on the floor. Knees apart.”

Steve pushed the covers aside and did as she instructed, curious and amused that she seemed more like a drill sergeant than spy at this moment. Natasha then sat herself between his legs, her back pressing up against his chest.

She seized his right hand, and guided it down her thigh to where the hem of the nightgown had gathered up at her knee. Her hand on the back of his, she curled her fingers, curling his, ushering him to rake back the silk fabric all the way up to her hip. She slowly spread her legs.

Steve held his breath, keenly aware of the callouses the constant use of the shield has given him. Natasha then deliberately pushed his hand down to rest directly on the soft folds between her legs. “Relax,” she whispered and Steve finally exhaled. “You’re doing fine.” For several moments her hand didn’t move and he just felt the heat radiating from her.

“Now…” she said quietly. “Every woman has an extremely sensitive place here, a pearl. Finding it...touching it in just the right way will bring most women to the peak of ecstasy pretty damn quickly.”

Natasha then guided two of Steve’s fingers to part her lips, slick and wet with her own arousal. He found himself gasping. She then pressed his fingers harder against her, wiggling her hips slightly until she suddenly moaned. “There,” she murmured.

Cautiously, Steve began to lightly massage her. Natasha took her own hand away to grip the edge of the bed. Her usual cool composure evaporated swiftly as, by tiny increments, his fingers moved more vigorously. She was soon writhing and muffling her cries into his bicep. She tensed and shuddered one last time before gripping his wrist, signaling her need for him to stop. 

Steve cradled her, concerned. He witnessed her flush slowly dissipate, control return to her limbs, a long sigh fill her lungs. Not pain then; just intense pleasure. 

Coming to terms with his relief and wonder, he then kissed her lightly on the forehead, smiling slightly. “What you shared…that was a gift.”

Natasha tilted her chin up and gazed half-lidded at him, her face relaxed. “I know you’ll use it for good, Rogers. You always do.”

They had sex in other ways that night, each act a revelation to Steve. He began to understand that Natasha purposely put aside her edgier appetites and blunted the crude or racy slang that would grate against his antiquated sensibilities. Never once did she tease him about his inexperience. It was a kindness and tenderness he hadn’t realized she possessed until now, and it made him want her more.

Finally, with their hungers sated, they both put on their clothes and rested on his bunk, Natasha’s small and agile frame cupped in his. A feeling of peace he had never known infused his body, a balm to the dark thoughts that plagued him. Sleep was not far behind.

Natasha yawned. “I can’t stay much longer,” she pronounced.

Steve cracked open his eyes. “That discreet thing, right?”

“And an o-five-hundred wake-up, an o-six-hundred breakfast, and an o-seven briefing from Hill on any new developments that may put a wrinkle into the Triskelion op,” she added. "Then it's showtime."

Natasha slipped herself to the edge of the bunk and sat up. Steve also slid up to a sit, resting his hand on her bare shoulder. “‘Tasha, I don’t know if there will be another opportunity, so I’m going to say thanks right now. This wasn’t saving my life, but it think it saved my sanity.”

He was half-expecting one of her razor-like quips as a response. Instead Natasha placed a hand over his heart, lowering her eyes. Her voice was thick with emotion. “You always see the best in people, Steve. Your friends, your team, even total strangers. If they have any virtue at all, they can’t help but give the best parts of themselves to you in return.” It seemed to him that she was on the verge of breaking into tears, but long practice at schooling her emotions kept her together. “I...well...I needed this, too.” 

Steve clasped her hand, and raised it to his lips, kissing her knuckles then brushing his cheek against where his lips had just touched. He closed his eyes for a moment, summoning all his willpower to open his hand and let her go, like the “rules” demanded.

“See you at breakfast then,” he said evenly. He wrapped his arms around his legs, staring ahead rather than suffer watching her leave.

“You got it, Rogers,” she returned. Her footsteps were silent, but not the door as she closed it behind her.

Steve flopped down on his pillow, almost ready to wallow in the likelihood that he would never touch Natasha so intimately again. But then his thoughts turned. If he could help the Black Widow remember her compassion, surely he could help the Winter Soldier remember their friendship. He just had to trust.


End file.
